


carry the divine

by lifeincantos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crossover, Ensemble Cast, Multi, Slow Burn, Space Angst™, Torture, Violence, Voltron au, War Themes, Worldbuilding™, like the slowest, sci fi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeincantos/pseuds/lifeincantos
Summary: rarely do we recognize the sound when the bolt of our fate slides home.on the day the craft Coeus is meant to touch down on a moon of Pluto, its contact with earth is severed. its crew is written off as adventurers to wither in the obscurity of history, and life continues. but the seemingly fatal mission is only the beginning of the story.space is alive and under siege and whispers one name, over and over, with its drowning breath:voltron.





	1. oo1. prologue

Nine months of travel, with a sleeping quarter almost as large as his bathroom at the Garrison, and Daichi still presses his nose up in awe against the glass of the ship’s large viewing window when he’s well and truly sure that neither of his teammates are looking. 

Maybe it’s the fact that even out here, where the earth fell out out range of the visible spectrum long ago, everything is _still_ miraculous. The stars are not close enough to touch -- the planets they pass distant to avoid their gravity. He _knows_ the science -- as much as someone like him will ever know the science -- but even plunging into the inky black of the great beyond, the mysteries remain. 

“Wow, I can actually _see_ the sentimentality, Sawamura.” 

Ah yes. Nothing like a little dose of reality to cure the sublime. 

Daichi turns, neatly hiding any flutter of embarrassment with a wry grin and a neatly arched brow. 

“Can you? Shocking, I didn’t think you’d could see anything past your collection of rock samples, Tsukishima.” 

Tsukishima is _not_ so adept, apparently, because his face cycles through a whole range of emotions -- startled, indignant, amused, mock hurt -- before he slings a carefree arm around Daichi’s shoulders and, rather than pull him away, joins him at the window. 

“Honestly, the great tragedy of this world is that no one believes me when I tell them what a little punk you are.” 

“It’s not my fault I turned in my work on time and followed the rules. And I’m not _little_ anything. I’m literally six months younger than you.” 

“Followed the rules? Have you _met_ you? Six months and like, six feet shorter.” 

“You’re not allowed to exaggerate. How can we ever trust you as our resident scientific genius?” 

“Uh, because of the whole resident scientific genius part.” 

“Who lacks a doctorate.” 

“Who lacks a -- hey!” 

That earns Daichi a playful slug to the shoulder that lands maybe a hair too hard. But Akiteru’s definitely feeling it too; knuckle bones against military trained muscle don’t stand much of a chance, and it gives Daichi a little thrill of satisfaction. Satisfaction that shows in the way his grin grows wolfish around the edges. 

“Who’s _finishing_ a doctorate,” Akiteru corrects, giving up the clearly futile mission of rough housing and instead focusing on messing up Daichi’s hair as much as he can. “You know better than that by now, c’mon.” 

“Do I?” Daichi feigns ignorance, batting away the hand in his hair. But he’s betrayed by his own laughter, glittering and hard. “Fine, fine, you’re just an easy target, man.” 

“Well, one of has to be. -- Hey, Boss, wanna help me gang up on Sawamura?” 

Daichi freezes under the weight of Akiteru’s arm, caught between panic and the desire to snap to attention and settling on neither. It doesn’t help that the presence of something around his neck makes it that much easier to stay down and mull over his options. 

And then there’s something suspiciously hand shaped resting on the back of his head and he’s fairly certain this is how he dies. What a headline -- pilot of the historic Coeus mission to Kerberos, dead of embarrassment before they touch down. 

As if oblivious to his plight, the newcomer behind him laughs. 

“Now why would I do such a thing to our heroic, upstanding pilot?” It’s no surprise that Commander Tashiro’s voice is gentle and warm, and Daichi’s soul continues to evaporate from wherever it had been moored. 

“Oh my god, seriously.” Akiteru heaves a champion grade sigh, reluctantly withdrawing his arm from around Daichi’s neck and crossing it against his chest with his other. Which means that Daichi has no recourse left -- he has to stand straight and face his commander, blood red face and all. 

“Commander, I --” The words strangle in his throat and at his left he hears Tashiro make a sound that’s traitorously close to a laugh. Though he’s focused on meeting his Commander’s eyes, he’s not really seeing much of anything through his haze of respect and fear and embarrassment. 

Commander Tashiro takes it in stride. He ruffles Daichi’s hair (he’ll bemoan it when he gets a chance, now that it’s wrecked) before dropping his hand to his shoulder. 

“Everything’s fine,” he says warmly, radiating the kind of confidence that probably comes with years of study and leadership. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Daichi.” 

“Or an alien!” Akiteru offers unhelpfully. Daichi almost whines before he catches himself. 

“Still holding out hope?” 

“ _Think_ about the possibilities.” Akiteru’s eyes are glittering, and Daichi sees the Commander’s lips twitch into a broader, more playful smile. “Not only have we traveled the farthest of any manned space mission -- with the youngest and most decorated crew in history -- but add first extraterrestrial contact on top of that? Don’t crush my dreams, Boss. ‘Sides, gotta take a pic of one for Kei.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Tsukishima.” Tashiro’s voice is softer now and, without realizing it, Daichi finds that the tension and shame has bled from his frame. Tashiro catches his eye and flashes him a grin. 

“C’mon, Captain Sawamura. I want to show you something before you have to check our progress.” 

“Ah -- right! Sure thing.” 

“Have fun, guys.” Akiteru waves, turning on his heel to the hall of the ship that he’d dedicated to his research quarters over the past almost - year. The gesture is passing and casual, but when he turns to reciprocate, Daichi thinks he can see the restless excitement knitted into his flesh, simmering just under the skin. And he can’t really blame him -- for the antics, the energy, the laughter. 

They’re only a few days from descent, now. No one faces making history, alighting on their destiny, with composure. 

* * *

He drifts. 

Everything is so far away out here -- every star, every planet, every sound. They echo strangely, bouncing around like so many radio waves scattering into the ether. Part of him -- asks? Begs, maybe, _needs_ to hook onto those sounds. The voice is insistent, an alarm. 

Listen. Listen. Say something -- wake up -- wake up, _Daichi_ \-- 

Five more minutes, please. 

He drifts. 

* * *

Space is all points -- arching points, lines drawn between omnipointed stars, plotted courses, the dotted pattern of satellite bodies. It is distances -- so far, each celestial body _years_ separated from the last. It is silence. 

Someone calls to him. 

No, someone _yells_. 

His eyes are shut, leaden. But without realizing it, he finds himself aware -- twitching muscles he can’t identify, searching for his cardinal directions, seeking out the floor or the ceiling or anything solid with which to orient himself. Anything, ground yourself -- find an anchor and you can accomplish _anything_. All you need is something to hold, white knuckles straining under your skin as a sign that you will always endure. 

Daichi opens his eyes. 

The world is violet, and he is not alone. 

Things resolve asymmetrically. He notices first that whatever is in front him -- these things aren’t human. None of the humans he knows have claws and fangs and grow seven, eight feet in height. None of the humans he knows have yellow eyes that pierce through him until he can feel the pain lance through his temple. 

\-- Not just his temple. Like shattered glass, the entirety of his head aches in a way that matches his pulse, thready and quick. His stomach rolls, rebels, but he can’t, he’s wearing his -- 

\-- No helmet? How can he -- is he breathing? Air catches in his chest, strangles in his lungs because he can’t -- breathe, breathe, just do it, captain just _breathe_ god damn it -- 

\-- He coughs, he hears voices. He can’t understand them -- is his hearing...? Muffled or, but no, it’s _fine_ he just -- can’t understand -- 

\-- But he **can**. One of them -- he knows that voice. He knows how gentle and warm and solid and all knowing it is. Should be -- how it should be, because this is _not_ the measured and sheltering honey - gold voice of Commander Tashiro Hidemi. 

“We don’t know -- he doesn’t know! Please, release them -- !” 

Daichi’s throat _burns_ , a fact he only notices when he opens his mouth -- to respond to the Commander, to say something, to address the _thing_ that’s leaning in, now only inches from his face, speaking in a language so jagged and steel laced that it slices through him, nausea roiling in the pit that was his stomach. 

“--- We mean you no harm,” he chokes out. Tashiro falls silent. Daichi cannot turn to look at him. Words build behind his teeth now, straining with the pressure of his useless tongue and blistering throat. “Please -- we’re not... We’re not here to fight we are -- please. They’ve done nothing -- let them go, let us _go_ \-- !” 

“ _Daichi!_ ” 

Instantly, _instantly_ he knows that voice. From the corner of his eye, Daichi can see Tashiro’s frantic expression. But at the insistence and fear he hears, he turns to Akiteru just as something connects neatly with the back of his skull. 

He sinks. 


	2. oo2. simulated response

This _really_ isn't the way Tsukishima Kei wants to die.

“Stay in your seat!”

“I can't, you keep – ah, stupid Kageyama, stop rolling!”

“I _can't_ stop rolling because _you_ haven't locked onto coordinates yet!”

“ _I can't lock onto coordinates if you keep rolling_ –!”

Eh, come to think of it, if he's dead at least he won't have to listen to Things One and Two argue like their aircraft isn't blaring every alarm it's equipped with and they're hurtling toward certain, fiery demise. Or they _would_ be if this wasn't some useless simulation designed to strip bare everyone's level of sheer incompetence for the entire class to witness. Like they're not all just as hopeless.

“Hinata just get to your screen and get the coordinates!”

“Come back here and say that to my face!”

“I'm flying, you idiot!”

“Well maybe _I_ should be the one flying!”

“We're literally in the air right now!”

– Maybe not just as.

If Tsukishima pulls his arms any closer to his chest, he might just crack a rib. Turned away from the other two – Kageyama gripping onto the wheel and Hinata bouncing around, untethered, in his seat – they can't see the way the irritation grows increasingly apparent on his face. When a faint tension headache threatens to bloom from the combined force of his clenched jaw and the incessant alarms, he knows it's time to do _something_.

“Shut _**up**_.”

How his voice cuts through the noise he'll never know, but Kageyama and Hinata freeze – evident by how the motion and clatter behind him stops all at once. He draws in a breath and turns in his chair.

“Are you two going to pilot this thing or are we going to crash?”

For a moment, the only sound is the ringing alarm. And then, of course, both other voices overlap, talking a mile a minute and demanding equal attention.

“ _I'm_ going to pilot us out as soon as –”

“If he would just –”

“I can't drive this thing surrounded by idiots –”

“Who are you calling an idiot, _idiot_ –”

“That's what you are –!”

Another alarm pierces through the tangle of accusations, and even Tsukishima has to wince at its volume. The viewing windows bleed red, glowing with scrawling lines of neon warnings about engine failures, wing failures, mechanical failures, system failures –

“Yamaguchi!” Hinata's voice is high and grating and Tsukishima feels personally victimized by its sheer volume and pitch. “Do something!”

He knows they can't hear his scoff, but they can see how he turns back in his chair and props one foot up on his console.

“I'm not saving your worthless hides.”

Hinata draws a breath – probably to yell at him with that insufferable voice of his – when all the alarms hit a crescendo and then stop altogether. The motion of the ship stops with it and when the doors open in the back, letting in all the earthly florescent light, the tableu of Tsukishima lounging against his console, Kageyama gripping the wheel hard enough to snap it off, and Hinata stretched to his limit, holding onto his chair with one foot and his arms gripping Kageyama's headrest like he's about to tackle him.

“– _**Cadets**_!”

That's _really_ not a good sound.

Kageyama is the first to snap to attention, shooting out of his seat and dutifully lining up against the glass wall of the bridge. Hinata is next, right on his heels and spurred on by his movement, though he does it all with considerably less dignity and almost knocks Kageyama over in his attempt to stand straight and salute simultaneously – two things at once, not his strong suit.

Tsukishima is last, and somehow creates just as much fanfare with how slow and quiet his trek is. It's at least a full half minute before he's joined them and he can hear the collective sound that a crowd makes when they have something meaty to chew on. It's like the scattering of rodent feet on cement. He makes a concerted effort not to look too murderous.

“Nice of you to _join_ us, Cadet Yamaguchi.”

Maybe this is how Tsukishima dies. He can't figure out if this is better or worse.

“Sir,” he replies thinly, raising one hand – the correct hand – to his brow. The Lieutenant holds his gaze for a few long moments. Tsukishima looks stubbornly back, refusing to wither until the contest is over and Lieutenant Irihata turns on his heel to address the crowded students.

“Can anyone tell me what these cadets did wrong to have their mission fail so spectacularly?”

It'd sting if there was any time to process. Thankfully, the crowd en masse replies almost immediately.

“The pilot takes his turns too fast!”

“The communications officer wouldn't listen to the pilot!”

“And he wouldn't stay in his seat.”

“The engineer didn't do anything!”

“They took a nosedive!”

“They spent the whole mission yelling at each other.”

“Precisely.” A metallic chill works its way down Tsukishima's spine at the last voice – there is no mistaking the golden edged voiced of Cadet Oikawa. At least he's spared from the lilting, smug little grin when Irihata agrees in his clipped, professional way. No, instead he gets to see Hinata squirming in his periphery while Irihata turns back to leer at them.

“Arguing – yelling at each other, ignoring safety regulations. Ignoring _orders_ from base. You failed to keep your objective in mind, and you failed each other.”

Well of _course_ they did. It's a wonder Hinata can breathe and walk at the same time for all his idiocy, and Kageyama's hardly better. Sure he's fast behind the wheel but it's not like he studies or aces his classes. And even what he's supposed to be good at – who the hell can keep up with those sharp, banked turns and monosyllabic grunting that's meant to be communication? After last year's tragedy - after the Coeus, a year ago - you'd think everyone would take this more _seriously_. 

The condemnation is expected, and as such shouldn't rake its rusted, tanging claws down his skin like this.

“You three back with the others. Watch. Try to learn something.”

Tsukishima can practically _hear_ Thing One deflating in relief, his stupid, grating voice falling like shattered glass. Kageyama makes no move to silence him or keep him out of trouble, and Tsukishima is finally, for _once_ , inclined to agree. Let the moron get busted for cheering or falling over or fainting or whatever it is he's doing. It's not Tsukishima's problem. 

“Yamaguchi.”

He almost forgets to react to the name, but Irihata's voice is a low and terrible thing and that alone is enough to remind him and make him freeze.

“Sir?”

If Irihata hears how Tsukishima grinds the word out like a curse, he doesn't comment.

“There's a difference between failing and failing to do something. I'll cure the stupidity out of someone, no matter how whole they wind up on the other side. But wasting your intelligence by sitting idly by is not something I'm inclined to waste my energy fixing. Consider that before your next assignment, Cadet. Dismissed.”

Irihata turns and lines up the next team at the simulator's door. Tsukishima waits a moment longer, and refuses to acknowledge the ice that pools in his veins.

* * *

“Kageyama, you're making too much noise!”

“Wha – me? Are you crazy?”

“Of course you! We're going to get caught!”

“If we get caught it's because you can't keep your mouth shut for five seconds!”

“That's not – ow! Stupid Kageyama, that _hurts_!”

Hinata bats at Kageyama's hand, but he fails miserably to keep the other from pressing his fist against his crown. The sting of knuckles against skull is nothing compared to the frustration of Kageyama being so _stupidly_ tall and mean and – just a dumb jerk.

Of **course** it had to be him, right? Of all the kids in their class, it had to be Kageyama on his team. At least Yamaguchi isn't a total jerkwad to him 24/7. What, is it Kageyama's mission to run him out of the Garrison? Hinata _earned_ his spot, okay, and it'll take a lot more than stupid Kageyama braining him to shove him out the door.

The pressure on his head releases and for a full, whole second Hinata feels nothing but gleeful satisfaction. Then he realizes that he's hearing _footsteps_ echoing down the darkened hallway. Oh _crap_ – someone's awake right now? Whipping around, Hinata realizes with a start that he's alone.

“Wha – Kageyama!”

“Idiot, shut up!”

He can't place where the disembodied voice is coming from – back the way they came? Behind something? The trash cans are pretty conveniently placed, but there's no one there when he checks and where else is there to hide –

“Pick a spot already!”

Oh! There, the little alcove, he hadn't even seen it at first. Good choice, Kageyama! Hinata slips right in – and immediately realizes that it's not quite big enough for the both of them.

“What the hell, Kageyama? This is tiny!”

He can kind of see how Kageyama's face changes color, goes darker. But the much more salient clue is that patented death glare, which his shiny eyes and the whole _murder you_ vibe. A chill races down Hinata's spine.

“Of course – you stupid – _why_ are you hiding here?”

“Because this is the hiding spot!”

For a moment, Kageyama looks lost for words. “ – _My_ hiding spot! You _idiot_ –”

“You boys aren't very good at this.”

Good thing they've already been caught. Now Hinata can scream without repercussion.

Or – well, _whoops_. Probably not.

He can't actually see from this angle so he sticks his head out of the alcove. Behind him (next to him? It really is cramped) Kageyama makes a noise of protest. But they're not going to get anywhere, obviously, and their cover is already blown.

When he's out, he's greeted with a familiar sight.

“Lieutenant Sugawara!”

“Cadet Hinata.”

Sugawara's voice is always so gentle and calm, and all at once the nerves of their late night escapade and subsequent capture are rolling off of his back. The chill dissipates from his spine and he hops right out of the alcove. Kageyama hisses something. Hinata ignores him.

“What are you doing up?”

Sugwara's mouth twitches, the lines around it carving a little more deeply with the motion. “Isn't that my question?”

“Idiot!” That's what Kageyama's whispering. Oh – _oh_. Right. Lieutenant Sugwara. _Instructor_ Sugawara.

The Lieutenant leans, canting his head to the side. His expression is gentle, but Hinata realizes he's not smiling.

“Hello, Tobio. Please join us.”

The sinking feeling creeps in again without Hinata's notice as Kageyama unfolds himself from his hiding spot and sidles up next to him, standing at full attention. Oh! Maybe he should do that too? He whips his hand up fast enough to smacking himself in the eye. It waters instantly.

Sugawara huffs a sound that sounds almost like a laugh.

“Okay. Now that we're all accounted for, I think I need an explanation.”

“Ah – an – explanation?”

Sugawara turns his gaze on Hinata and Hinata wishes fervently that he hadn't said a word.

“Curfew began some time ago. And even if it hadn't, this area is restricted outside of scheduled class hours. These are major disciplinary offenses, Hinata.”

If it's even possible, Hinata feels Kageyama stiffen further.

“We – ah, well you see – we just – ”

“We were going to the simulator.”

Both Hinata and Sugawara freeze at Kageyama's explanation. What – what? And Kageyama calls him an idiot? Like he's not just – standing there running his mouth like that? Oh god, they're gonna get _expelled_ – !

“Oh.”

Are they?  
  
Glancing up, expression knitted into eight knots of panic, Hinata can see Sugawara's thoughtful look. He raises a finger to his lips, tapping like he's giving this every ounce of thought he's got. Is that okay? Is that a good thing? Or is he calculating how quickly he can kick them out the door?

And then he's laughing. _Really_ laughing.

Hinata sees how the lines around his eyes wrinkle deeper – and part of him is glad (well, duh, it's probably better if Sugawara is laughing rather than calling in Irihata or somebody), but there's also... Sugawara isn't that old. He's only in his twenties and Hinata doesn't remember seeing those lines last year. Something twists uncomfortably in his stomach, despite the rush of relief.

“I heard about your crash landing,” he says, kindness slipping back into his voice. It's so familiar that Hinata's face burns with hearing it. “Were you trying to practice?”

“I don't want to crash again.” Kageyama's voice is steel – also kind of familiar. It's how he sounds when he's tired of being a jerk. “Our next simulated flight is in a week. I have to be ready.”

“I see.” Sugawara looks steadily at him, and then at Hinata. Silence passes for a moment or two. Hinata holds his breath. “Then where is Yamaguchi?”

“O-oh, he, uh...”

“It's just us.”

For once, Hinata can't say he's mad that Kageyama's talking over him. He doesn't know why, but it feels – bad to admit that their engineer bailed on the idea before they could even finish explaining it. Especially when he was the one who wouldn't do anything anything today –!

Sugawara stays silent for another moment more before releasing his tension and placing a hand, weathered and warm, on each of their shoulders.

“Go to bed. And by bed, I really mean bed. Get some sleep because you're going to be up early tomorrow.”

“Early...?” Oh god, are they _actually_ getting kicked out?

“Five hundred hours. And not a minute late. Someone will be here to help you. But it has to be then, got it?”

No, they're not! Joy, bright and glittering, floods Hinata's veins and he turns back to flash Professor Sugawara the biggest grin he can manage.

“Yessir! Definitely! Thank you!” 

He's rewarded with a smile of his own, Sugawara's whole face lighting with it. “Of course. Don't be late.”

“We won't!”

No, they won't. Hinata's three alarms and blissful, deep sleep will see to that.  
  


* * *

Suga waits until the boys are out of sight, trusting that if they managed to sneak out this far, they won't encounter any issues getting back to their dorm. It's... not the safest bet. They _are_ Hinata and Kageyama, and with reputations like theirs he can't help but worry. But this is as much as he can do, and he'll have to live with it.

It's good practice for everything else he has to live with.

He turns on his heel and tracks back the way he came, pausing outside Irihata's office and exhaling sharply. His expression momentarily steels into something sharp and jagged before he releases the breath and shoves the cloned keycard further into his pocket. He'll have to destroy it before morning.

If Irihata changed his lock, _again_ , it could mean that he knows. Standard operating procedure requires six months, and the process is tedious and inconvenient that the possibility is very real – he could know that someone has been trying to access his files.

He could even know the culprit.

But doubts and hesitation – Sugawara is distinctly tired of failure. These kinds of worries will only hold him back, and the stakes are too high to let fear still his hand before he uncovers what he needs to. So drawing a breath he unhooks the scanner from his belt, deftly jams the electromagnetic frequency of the surrounding cameras, and takes a reading of the new lock in the thirty seconds the jammer allows him.

He finishes with five to spare and is down the next hallway when the cams are back online. His heart is racing in his throat and the muscles of his hands are throbbing with the strength of his grip on the scanner.

Good. That's fine – that's _great_. Let him be terrified of the consequences; it still won't stop him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are loved, but theories & speculation are even more loved. 
> 
> womeninthesequel.tumblr.com


	3. oo3. distress signal

The system failure warning flashes for the third consecutive time, and if he were a different person Kageyama Tobio might think it was a pattern. But he's not and the only thing he's feeling is overwhelming, all consuming annoyance. Even after the simulation blinks to a close, he can feel the ringing throb in time with his pulse. A headache's starting to form at the base of his skull. Idly, he wonders if straight up punching Hinata in the face will cure it.

No, it won't. Anything that makes Hinata more insufferable is not great for Kageyama's health.

“Alright guys.”

The ship goes dark and he can now see the world outside. Rocky terrain and streaking asteroids are replaced by the polished, clinical walls of the simulation deck. And rather than an extra terrestrial life form, Kageyama can now see the resolving outline of Sergeant Tanaka Ryuunosuke. Kageyama releases a sigh at the same time he hears Hinata smack a hand against his now – dead console.

Then his hand is shooting to the intercom. He's not the only one.

“One more time!”

Sergeant Tanaka picks his head up at that, and Kageyama can feel the flickering ember of surprise kindling in his own chest. So they really did say it at the same time. Irritation threatens to scrape against his nerves but – well, if he can say one thing about Hinata, he knows the idiot isn't one to stop when they're just getting started.

Well that's – good.

“Huh?!”

Tanaka's moved away from his control set to stand dead in front of the simulation window, hands on his hips and head canted to the side. Kageyama swallows down the hard knot that lodges in his throat. Hinata takes that moment of silence to unlock his belt and press up until the emergency exit hatch above them slides open.

“One more time!”

“Oi, you can't just open the hatch!”

Both Hinata and Kageyama ignore Tanaka's protest; Hinata stays where he is and Kageyama joins him He's _not_ about to let that idiot get ahead of him, not for a second. Hinata squawks when he's shoved aside but Kageyama ignores him, leaning forward and gripping the metal hull with a white knuckled hold.

“One more time – we're just getting started. We're going to get this, _please_.”

“Guys...” Tanaka looks like he releases a breath. Some of the combative tension in his posture fades and he moves to rub the back of his head. Kageyama doesn't move. “Look, you really can't. You're just getting caught up in it and you're not thinking straight. You need to take a breather.”

His veins are icy and Kageyama feels his mouth open even though no words come out. No – no way, this isn't the end. This will _not_ be the end. He has a week and they can't fail. _He_ can't fail. Unacceptable.

Tanaka realizes in a single moment that Kageyama's about to reply, and he has no time to shut it down before it begins.

“ _No_!”

Hinata, _damn_ it. Kageyama whips around, not even wincing when his hip digs into the metal lip of the hatch. He's fully prepared to rip Hinata a new one – he's _got_ this, shut _up_ , idiot – but he falters. There is something liquid and burning in Hinata's eyes, molten and ravenous and resonating with the deep, bottomless cavern in Kageyama's chest.

That one second of hesitation is all the time Hinata needs to barrel on.

“One more time! Sergeant, please – we can do this! Whatever it takes, we can't stop here. We _won't_ stop here! We came here to fly, I'm not giving up. We're not giving up!”

Kageyama is frozen. Tanaka is probably equally so because for a few long seconds, there's only silence.

“Ah, jeez.”

Kageyama releases a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and turns around just in time to see Tanaka's head drop comically low before he picks himself up and stretches his spine out. “Don't look at me like the world's ending. Alright, alright, get back in. Once more – then you _really_ gotta go. They're gonna call breakfast soon. - Ah, ah, looks like we'll be back at this tomorrow.” The last bit is said quickly over the sound of collective, stirring protest – and is greeted by twin wide-eyed looks from the both of them.

Tanaka grins, wolfish and proud.

“Good thing the Lieutenant likes you guys. And me too – sacrificing my sleep like this. _Youth_ these days.”

It seems unwise, and completely unnecessary, to point out that Takana is barely five years their senior. Hinata is squawking again – this time in something that sounds excited enough to grate fully on Kageyama's suppressed nerves.

“Thank you, Sergeant Tanaka!”

“Sergeant Tanaka, _sir_ ,” the other corrects, arms crossed against his chest. Hinata happily obliges – Kageyama as well, although significantly less happy about it.

“Sergeant Tanaka, _sir_!”

The Sergeant's laughter, rough around the edges but also warm and satisfied all the way through, follows them back into the simulation.

* * *

Tsukishima notices a beat too late that Thing One and Thing Two are coexisting in the same room at the same time without trying to kill each other. Hunh. Whatever, it's too early for his brain to function well enough for it to register. And too early for him to care – not that he'd ever. When Irihata's threat ghosts through his memory, he violently quashes it.

God, it'll be nice when he no longer has to take all his meals with the masses. This is far too loud a setting for anyone to enjoy breakfast – which only heightens just how bland and disgusting the food is. How they expect anyone to perform at their peak when this is how they treat their students is beyond him. And why no one else seems to complain about it is even more incomprehensible.

Well, it's not like he's ever been keen on understanding these idiots.

“Tobio-chan!”

Somehow, Oikawa Tooru's voice always manages to cut through whatever crowd Oikawa finds himself in. The sound alone is enough to rake metal nails down Tsukishima's spine – but he's mollified by how Kageyama looks more put out than he. And it's at least mildly amusing to see how Hinata stiffens, then ducks behind Kageyama like he's really able to hide. Not like Oikawa cares about him.

The greeting must have been called loudly, because when Kageyama answers Tsukishima can't hear them over the din of the breakfasting students. Unfortunate. But there's little else to do than half heartedly stab at supposedly nutritionally balanced foodstuffs and watch the show play out.

There's history there, that much is certain. Oikawa never does something without a reason, and it's not like Kageyama is anything special enough to warrant attention. Not from a senior poised to graduate – a student so _golden boy_ that it's impossible not to know his status no matter how hard you try to ignore everyone and everything around you.

Kageyama has no ability to conceal what he's feeling. The mishmash of emotions plastered all over his face is visible even halfway across the cafeteria. Pathetic. Oikawa notices – how could he not? Maybe he's projecting, but Tsukishima thinks he sees Oikawa's predatory grin grow wider and sharper and impossibly more amused under eyes that glitter. Hinata's hands are tangled in Kageyama's shirt and he tugs them both back. But he's too weak to do anything and the other two ignore him.

In fact, Kageyama almost lunges forward before he freezes, eyes wide, hands tensely gathered into fists. With a little sparking interest, Tsukishima notes that a few students sitting at the table closest to the trio have turned to look. None of the three look back; of them, Tsukishima knows that Oikawa's the only one who notices the attention.

But he's still poised and moves with whimsical grace as he turns on his heel and waves the other two goodbye – for all appearances, a backhanded dismissal, a mocking facsimile of friendship.

Show's over. Perhaps Tsukishima's is as well. He moves quietly and garners no notice as he composts his uneaten breakfast and sends the tray down the cleaning chute. When he gets to the doors someone left them swinging and he slips out without touching them.

One week, minus a day, until their next simulated run. Even if Tsukishima steps up, the Things will just wreck their last shot. So his deadline has finally come. One way or another, he won't be here in a week.

Time to pay Irihata's office another visit.

* * *

“Good morning, Ryu.”

“Mornin' – Sugawara, sir!”

There's a little quiver of frenzy in his voice as he tacks the title on at the end, but despite his shock, Tanaka can't help the smile that hitches onto his face at the sight of the Lieutenant slips quietly through the faculty lounge door. He leaves anything else hanging – incredulousness is a powerful thing and renders him speechless for a moment.

“Oh, please.” Sugawara smiles gently in return, grabbing some coffee from the pot on the counter before picking the chair across from Tanaka's. “Has it really been that long?”

Tanaka catches himself, because yes, honestly, hasn't it been? It feels like he has seen Sugawara in a year – but that's not something he'd bring up on a good day, and in a moment of triumph he swallows the errant comment in favor of something marginally better.

“Sorry, sorry. But what're you doing here, Suga?”

“Well, faculty lounge. Faculty. Makes sense, right?”

“Ah – yeah.” Tanaka keeps the stormclouds from his voice and his expression. Which means he has to press on, ignoring the way new lines have collected at the corner of Suga's eyes and around his mouth, the way gravity has a stronger hold on his shoulders than most anyone else's. Not good to dwell on, move on, move on - “Glad you found your way back! 'Specially after sticking me with those two.”

Suga's grin deepens. It makes the lines more pronounced. Tanaka does not wince.

“I do owe you for that. Thank you.”

Tanaka colors, waving a hand to cut that line of thought off. “Nah, it's all good. Seriously – gotta do my part, guide the youth. They _count_ on Sergeant Tanaka.”

“The youth?” Suga's eyes are – is that light? A little eclipse of it, working its way back in? Maybe – or maybe it's wishful thinking. But the objective fact is that after a second, Suga's laughing (laughing!) into his hand. The sound is so quiet, a twinkling of glass, but it's there and Tanaka latches onto it with drowning fervor.

“That's right! Kids these days think everything's a crisis. They _need_ me, Suga. How else are they going figure things out?”

“Such a hero,” Suga counters easily, settling his hand back on his lap. The smile remains. “We'd all be lost without you, Sergeant.”

“Damn straight! – Oh, uh, sorry.” He colors again, this time embarrassment taking hold. Suga reaches over and taps Tanaka's knee in reassurance.

“Again, it's just me.”

Tanaka breathes. “Not _just_ anything.”

He hopes that the gratitude and friendship and every ounce of fondness is conveyed in the response. But his heart plummets a little when Suga's expression darkens and in one fell swoop he's miles, years, away. He doesn't know what mine he's tripped but it must have been something – _damn_ it, it's always one step forward and one step back. How long can they keep treading water like this?

He wants to apologize – _burns_ with the wanting. But that's not what's going to wipe that look from Suga's face. If he wants any hope of alleviating some of the burden, he has to – damn, he has to plunge further in exactly the way he's already going.

“Seriously,” he says, like he hasn't noticed the gathering cloud. Suga perks a little, looking up at him with curiosity. Tanaka ignores that look too. He's too busy putting on a show; he stretches, draping one arm lazily over the back of the couch and dropping one leg over the other. It is a study in unaffected repose. Ghosts can reach him here.

“Those kids are lucky it was you. Both counts! I'da just turned 'em in to one of the head honchos. And if it wasn't you asking – no way. Doing that outside of hours is asking for trouble.”

“For me?”

“And _only_.” He leans forward, fixing Suga with a look and jabbing a finger at him. “Don't you forget it. Or abuse it, y'hear me?”

“I wouldn't dream of it.” His voice is mild, but some of the storm has cleared from his expression. The knot in Tanaka's chest eases. “ _My_ hero, then.”

Tanaka nods emphatically, crosses his arms against his chest, leans back, and bites back the overwhelming urge to look at Suga and see if this has helped. But then the charade clashes up against real surprise when Suga comments, “I know you're lying, though.”

“Wha – I – would _never_ –”

“It's alright.” Suga raises an appeasing hand. “Your secret's safe with me. I'll pretend you wouldn't help them regardless.”

“Ah – you, uh – I have no idea – you _better_.”

Maybe he'd put on a better show under different circumstances, but he'd almost just almost _died_ via heart attack. Cut him some slack.

“Cross my heart.” And most of the darkness is gone, but there is still... something. Whatever it is, instinct, years of friendship, the strange sensitivity of their new normal, Tanaka _knows_ that there's something else. He can almost feel it, like it's _him_ and there's something on the tip of his tongue. He catches his breath, brow furrowing.

“Suga –”

“I have a class.” When he stands, abrupt and lacking any gentility, the angle obscures Suga's expression. “Thanks for – everything. I'll see you around, alright?”

“I – uh... yeah?”

And then he's gone, slipping through the door, coffee untouched on the table between them

* * *

Tsukishima's heart is throbbing in his ears, and it's all he can do to keep himself silent. His bottom lip is caught mercilessly between his teeth and he's frozen against the wall, almost like he thinks he can blend right into the clinically clean veneer. Honestly, if he could think of anything beyond _stay hidden, stay hidden_ , he might wonder how Irihata isn't hearing the drum of his pulse from the other side of the room.

Irihata's rifling through his drawers, efficient but loud and – less composed than he usually is, if Tsukishima is keeping track. Which he _is_ , damn his overactive mind. What does it matter how frantically Irihata is searching – who cares what it's for? He's about to not only get expelled but possibly thrown in jail the moment Irihata remembers he needs something from his supply cabinet and sees Tsukishima there, trying to meld with the furniture.

His shoulder's aching, a fact that he notices more than he should right now. The bruise he got from scrambling to hide when he'd heard the door open is _not_ the point, but it has his attention and now he's got three things to keep track of simultaneously. Four if you include his impending death, incarceration, expulsion, what have you. Which he does.

 _Damn_ it.

“Damn it.”

What –?

Irihata's dialing a number. Has he been found –? “Yes, this is he. I need to place a request. Send maintenance up as soon as you can. I need a lock change. By the end of the day. – No, that's not necessary. Yes.”

He hangs up with no fanfare, no thank you, and slams one hand on his desk. A chill ghosts violently down Tsukishima's spine.

And then, impossibly, he turns on his heel and stalks out of the office, pulling the door closed behind him.

Oh god, he might still die. It takes at least half a minute for him to pull himself off the wall, hand clenched around his USB only because it's there and solid and drowning men usually seek out lifelines through pure instinct. He's going to be late – a demerit on his record, to tally with the others. That's... fine. Probably. Whatever, what does it matter?

One week – he needs to stay alive for a week. Get what he needs and get out – and he can, now. He can – Irihata's gone, he has _class_. Tsukishima knows because he's supposed to be there at this very moment too. This is –

Fear rakes down his arm and pierces through his lungs. Without sparing a thought he runs out of the office and doesn't look back. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments / theories / speculations are my guiding light & lifeblood, wink wink, nudge nudge. ❤ 
> 
> womeninthesequel.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> womeninthesequel.tumblr.com


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